


Personal Mythology

by Just_Another_Day



Series: Cartography [2]
Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Bloodplay, Implied/Referenced Child Sexual Abuse, Knifeplay, M/M, Post-Canon, Scarification, Sequel, Sexual References, Subspace, body image issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-10-29 10:07:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17806025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Just_Another_Day/pseuds/Just_Another_Day
Summary: "It's where our story started.""Not really. Not for me."





	Personal Mythology

**Author's Note:**

> Mind the tags.
> 
> This probably won't make much sense unless you've read [The Brush of a Blade](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17298701). Written for my kink bingo 'knifeplay/bloodplay' and 'subspace' squares. There isn't really any smut in this one, sadly. I keep writing kink without smut. Someone stop me.

Auguste had had a habit of making up stories about the vast array of images he apparently saw forming outlines among the stars. He did the same sometimes with any particularly odd-shaped clouds he spotted while they were out together riding in the afternoons. Auguste would point, his index finger tracing what he could see in mid-air in front of his face, and claim that it looked like a rabbit, or an archer shooting a boar, or even Laurent on his pony prancing about proudly after they won a race. 

When Laurent peered at the stars himself, he had rarely been able to make out exactly what Auguste was apparently seeing when _he_ looked up. Laurent strongly suspected, in retrospect, that the presence of those images was often as fictional as the stories that went with them. Auguste had likely just wanted an excuse to provide his little brother with some entertainment, and to have Laurent stare up at him like Auguste himself had hung the stars in the sky, the sheer amount of detail in the stories leaving Laurent's mouth hanging half open with awe. It reminded Laurent of the days, before Laurent himself had been able to string sentences together easily himself, when Auguste used to read books to him in the library, or in Auguste's rooms when Laurent snuck in there late at night when he was already supposed to be asleep. Except it was even better than those times as far as Laurent was concerned, because these were stories conjured from Auguste's own mind, not just the words of some long-dead historian or bard.

Laurent had always particularly liked it when they'd visited the fortresses down south, particularly at Acquitart, where he and Auguste could climb up onto the high stone outer walls many scores of feet above the ground and feel like they were up in the sky among the stars themselves; that they were actually a part of the tales Auguste was weaving. 

Laurent had once thought that that kind of experience must be completely unique among the two of them. He hadn't realised that there were entire traditions of passing on the stories of the stars until Damen had compared the now-faded pale lines on Laurent's thighs to 'constellations'. It wasn't a word that Laurent had ever heard before, and Damen couldn't produce an easy direct Veretian translation. He demonstrated the concept by tracing his fingers along intersecting scars, coming up with a story of a massive bear that dwelled in the northern-most forests of Vask, which was so large and ferocious that no man could fell it. It had only been overpowered, Damen claimed, when the Empress had unleashed her pet leopards on it. He pointed to two other patches of scars, as if they looked anything like big cats.

"You just made that all up," said Laurent. "And that doesn't look at all like a bear anyway."

"It requires some imagination. And how do you that I didn't hear the tale direct from the Empress herself?" 

It was true that they'd spent some time on a diplomatic envoy in Vask recently, and that the Empress had shown particular interest in Damen, often speaking with him out of Laurent's presence. Or trying to do so; Laurent had made a point of inserting himself into their conversations wherever possible. It was also true that although Laurent had made a point of learning about Vaskian dialects and politics, he had next to no idea about their folklore and the legitimacy of the stories involved. Akielons tended to pay more attention to such things than they ever had in Vere, from what Laurent had observed. Regardless, Laurent didn't need to know the background of the story to recognise it was based on falsehood when Damen was such a bad and obvious liar. Laurent directed an unimpressed stare Damen's way until Damen's face broke into a slightly sheepish smile, clearly knowing he'd been caught out. 

"Yes, alright, there was no bear that I know of. But to be fair, I'm not sure how much truth there is in the stories about the actual constellations, either. They've been passed down through so many generations that I wouldn't be surprised if the details had shifted away from reality over time, assuming they weren't made up to begin with."

"Did you ever come up with different stories for yourself?" Laurent asked. He tried to picture a much younger Damen looking up at the same stars that Auguste had been pointing up at, even on the exact same night, and seeing something similar to what Auguste was describing. There might have been some kind of common ground there. Laurent swallowed heavily.

"Sometimes," Damen admitted. "Though it was rare that anyone wanted to hear them. Nikandros only liked it when I made up things about those stars that didn't already have stories attached to them, so I wasn't contradicting or ignoring the real constellations. Father would have thought I was just making up fairy tales in an effort to avoid spending my time learning more important things. And Kastor thought himself too old to play along with that kind of game."

"I would have listened. Auguste made up stories like that for me when I was a boy," confessed Laurent.

It was still strange to Laurent to bring up Auguste's and Kastor's names casually like that, without any undercurrent of blame or grief in the air between them. Just as strange as it was when Damen spoke of the marks he'd helped create on Laurent's skin like they didn't represent something shameful. The story Laurent himself saw was, of course, something far less innocuous than what Damen was describing. It might have easily seemed like Damen was making light of that or ignoring it. Instead, Laurent found he didn't entirely mind the way Damen looked on the scars like they were just another part of Laurent that didn't need to be treated as a sign of fragility, and the ease in Damen's warm voice as he talked about how these ones looked like an urn he'd once broken and blamed on Nikandros. Unlike the story about the bear, it was obvious to Laurent that that one was entirely true.

"Can you see pictures that you think represent _our_ story as well, then?" Laurent asked curiously.

Damen didn't precisely look surprised by the question. But he did hesitate slightly when it came to answering. "That's... more complicated. I haven't drawn it yet."

He said it in a way that suggested to Laurent that he _wanted_ to, but perhaps wasn't sure that it would be welcome. Laurent surprised himself by not finding the idea objectionable. The marks on his skin were about his past, Laurent reminded himself. They didn't all have to be about Uncle.

Laurent suggested, "You could always just cover part of the story. The beginning, say." Though that was, of course, the most complicated part of all.

There was a long moment of contemplation, then Damen nodded. He climbed off the bed and strode across the room away from Laurent, presumably to retrieve the blade they usually used for this. 

Laurent expectantly rolled onto his front so that Damen could, for the first time, use his so-far unblemished back. Laurent might have once considered presenting his desire to have the knife used on him to Damen as though it was meant to be penance for Damen's whipping, but even then Laurent had never really intended to have Damen mark Laurent's own back in a direct mirror of Damen's own scars. After all, the whole point was for Laurent to be able to easily look down on the scars without needing the assistance of his imagination or even a mirror. But perhaps it was nonetheless right that Laurent should bear marks mimicking the slashes that cut into Damen's own back.

"No," Damen said firmly when he turned back around, knife in hand, and spotted how Laurent was lying with his back presented to Damen like an invitation. It was clear that he understood Laurent's intention. "That's not our story. Not anymore."

"It's where our story started."

"Not really. Not for me."

Damen placed the knife down where it would be in easy reach before lowering himself onto the bed alongside Laurent, with his back resting against the bed's headboard. When Damen rolled Laurent over, it wasn't unexpected that one hand immediately targeted Laurent's nipple while the other drifted lower. After all, they'd learned very quickly that the cuts hurt less and that it was much easier to bear more than a few at a time when they were delivered while Laurent was already hard, enabling the expression of pain as pleasure that Laurent had never initially expected but now found that he greatly enjoyed. Damen usually insisted on that, in fact, even though Laurent himself wouldn't always necessarily prefer it; sometimes it felt like the cutting should really be more of a punishment for allowing the touches that the cuts were meant to signify. That wasn't the point today, of course; these cuts would be representing something else, after all. But Laurent batted away Damen's hand that was reaching for Laurent's cock anyway. Laurent didn't want to be distracted by pleasure. Not when it came to this. 

For once, Damen didn't seem like he would insist, obviously taking the hint that this time would be a little different compared to what they'd established as their norm. His hands instead went for Laurent's hips. Though that was almost as stimulating as if he'd touched Laurent's cock after all, for he lifted Laurent almost clear off the bed with a seeming ease that Laurent never failed to find attractive, the real effort of it only shown in his bunching muscles. He guided Laurent to perch in his lap, straddling Damen's hips. 

Usually Laurent laid flat, spread out for Damen to explore. They'd never done it like this before, with Laurent's upper body propped against Damen's raised knees like a mostly-still-blank book full of drawing paper draped over an easel, ready for use.

Laurent felt how Damen's cock, where it pressed against his ass cheek, was a little firmer with interest than Laurent's own. But it wasn't hard enough for Laurent to lower himself onto so that Damen could lazily thrust into him while he worked with the knife. Which would probably have been just as well even if Laurent wasn't actively trying to avoid such distractions, considering how difficult it would be for Laurent to remain still with Damen's cock inside him. That probably wouldn't be safe, with a sharp knife pressed to his skin, so Damen doubtless wouldn't have taken such a risk with Laurent's welfare even if Laurent had wanted him to. Damen was always so careful about that. Even when he was purposely giving Laurent pleasure, he never did anything that he knew would make Laurent buck or writhe into his touch any time when the blade was in range, just in case.

With his left hand, Damen gripped Laurent's shoulder, as much a reminder for Laurent to keep himself still as a way for Damen to hold him in place himself. With his right hand, he retrieved the knife. The point of it found a relatively unscathed patch of Laurent's skin as a beginning point.

Damen's low voice started detailing the story, each cut punctuating a specific detail. It was a very familiar story, of course. But even with Damen having pointed out that he didn't see the whipping as the start of their tale, Laurent wouldn't have thought that his version of their beginning would start as far on in their 'acquaintance' as the night in the village at Nesson. The cuts Damen was making, Laurent soon realised, were a loose representation of the path they'd taken around the village, or as close to it as Damen could remember it several years after the fact. 

It was a little too simplistic to call Nesson their starting point, when so much had already happened between them by then that still, even now, affected the path of their relationship took. And it wasn't really fair to either of them to disregard the pain they'd caused each other prior to that night. It was part of their shared history, even if Laurent sometimes wished it wasn't. His own scars were a necessity, as far as Laurent was concerned – he hadn't felt right without them, and even now he still felt the need to create more – but he would have erased Damen's scars if he had the choice. 

But Laurent still surrendered entirely to Damen's intentions, and to the sensations, without question or complaint. For now.

Without already having his interest substantially roused, and with no other strong stimulation to distract him, the cuts felt more painful than they did arousing, at least at first. After the first few slices, though, once Laurent had fallen wholeheartedly into the sting of it in much the same way he might fall into Damen's arms the moment they were alone after a long absence from each other, each new cut started to seem a little less sharp. Usually physical pleasure seemed to anchor Laurent in place, providing an outlet for the sensation and somehow grounding Laurent in the present even as the cuts themselves recreated something dozens of times more painful from the past. This time, though, Laurent soon found himself instead sort of drifting, as if lulled away from the pain by the sound of Damen's steady voice. His limbs, which often during these sessions felt heavy with the effort of not moving or flinching and earning himself a more serious injury as a result, felt unusually light.

Laurent was obliquely aware of the knife being put away before he was entirely ready for Damen to be finished, and before the story of the night at Nesson reached its conclusion. Laurent made a noise of protest, though the actual words he'd meant to say didn't make it past Laurent's throat. 

"That's enough for one night," Damen said. "We'll finish it some other time."

Laurent would have loved to argue, since he knew that Damen tended to want to wait until Laurent was entirely healed before putting new marks on Laurent's body, so it would take practically forever for Damen to finish the map and the accompanying story at that rate. However, Damen's tone was firm. Laurent knew it well. It knew he wouldn't be swayed no matter what Laurent said. And that was if Laurent could have spoken with any clarity at all, which he currently seemed to be having trouble doing.

Laurent only meant to sit up straight, but a wave of physical exhaustion had him lolling forward like a doll the moment he wasn't being held up by Damen's thighs behind him anymore. Damen's steady hand on his shoulder caught him before Laurent could completely collapse against Damen. 

The blood that was still trailing sluggishly down Laurent's skin from his wounds dripped onto Damen's chest and stomach now that Laurent was half-suspended over him. Those disparate droplets could be mapped out like the stars too, Laurent thought. Like constellations, however temporary. They matched. He meant to laugh at the thought. No sound came out.

"Laurent," he eventually heard Damen say. "Are you alright?"

Laurent felt his lips part, but whatever it was that came out in place of the words he meant to speak was largely incoherent. 

Laurent wondered where this sudden tiredness and incoherence had come from. This was how he often felt after Damen cut him, yes, but generally he'd also climaxed at least once by then. Feeling this wrung out even without that release didn't make much sense, but Laurent could hardly deny what he was experiencing now. Everything was oddly dulled as well, even his mind, which was distantly alarming to him. 

Perhaps something of that showed on Laurent's face, for Damen's voice immediately turned reassuring. He shifted Laurent off him and onto his side on the mattress, apparently uncaring of the mess it would leave on the sheets, which would probably have to be burned. Damen disappeared from behind him for a moment, but Laurent didn't even have time to protest before he returned, his weight pressing down the mattress so that Laurent half-rolled back against him. His arms encircled Laurent and he uncorked the bottle of salve that he'd just retrieved. Laurent leaned back against Damen's solid presence while Damen's hands worked the salve into Laurent's cuts. Each hiss that escaped Laurent's lips was met with an answering sound from Damen, and each shiver with a tightening of the embrace, pulling Laurent further into Damen's body warmth. Under other circumstances, Laurent might have found it condescending. Right then, though, it was just nice, and a relief.

"Why Nesson?" Laurent asked when he regained enough control of his tongue to manage it. He thought he knew the answer, but he still wanted to hear it from Damen.

"That was the night when it became obvious that there could be something other than hate between us," Damen said candidly.

That night represented something similar to Laurent. It had been when Laurent had started to concede that things between the two of them were quickly changing away from what they'd once been, a far cry from anything Laurent would have thought he could ever experience with any man, let alone this one in particular. 

They couldn't forget about what came before that. The inability to just leave the less pleasant parts of the past behind was exactly the reason why Laurent had needed the scars in the first place, after all. Maybe that wasn't entirely healthy. But revisionist history wasn't something that Laurent supported either. 

But at the same time, Damen wasn't completely rewriting the story. Even though it was all important, especially as it had all combined to lead them the two of them to this point, Laurent couldn't really fault Damen for wanting to pay more attention to the better parts of their past rather than finding himself focusing more than he probably should on the pain. Laurent himself wasn't always particularly good at doing that, but he didn't need to force that mentality on Damen as well. 

Though perhaps this could actually help Laurent with that, to some extent. It might be a good thing to have marks on Laurent's skin that they could both look at and associate with nothing but helpless laughter and the adrenaline of racing over rooftops. With evidence of both the good and the bad being blended together on Laurent's skin, just as they were inextricably linked in real life, Laurent likely wouldn't be able to look at the signs of the things that he almost wished he could forget but couldn't afford to without also spotting marks of the things he was overwhelmingly glad to remember. 

It was a strange idea: that after all of Laurent's efforts to make the outside of his body more accurately reflect the darkness within, from now on Laurent might not be able to look on his body without smiling.

But the thought wasn't an entirely unwelcome one.


End file.
